Midnight Snack
by thesecondshelf
Summary: It was logical to be hungry, she told herself.  She had barely eaten since she left Shell Cottage, and that was ages ago.  It was not logical, however, to be restless— she hadn't slept since she left the cottage either.


It was a stupid thing for a smart girl to do, but she had done it anyway.

Just hours ago this castle had been attacked by hoards of dark wizards, many of whom were still unaccounted for. She should have been sleeping safely within the (miraculously still-intact) walls of Gryffindor Tower; she certainly should _not_ have been wandering the halls that had been battle grounds earlier that evening with her wand as her only company.

But Hermione was nowhere near the bed that she had once called her own. Instead, she was sitting cross-legged on one of the long house-elf-high tables in the Hogwarts kitchen, eating a sandwich that one of the ever-eager elves had prepared for her upon her arrival. _If Ron could see me now_, she thought, wryly.

It was logical to be hungry, she told herself. She had barely eaten since she left Shell Cottage, and that was ages ago. It was not logical, however, to be restless—she hadn't slept since she left the cottage either.

Yet there she sat, her mind racing as her fingers fumbled with the crusts of her late night snack.

Perhaps sleep evaded her because every time she closed her eyes she was bombarded by visions of the past 24 hours or so. Instead of the backs of her eyelids she saw crumbling walls, bright flashes of light, and fire so vivid she could almost feel it. She could have dealt with all that, though. It was the blank faces of fallen loved ones that really kept her weary eyes wide open.

She had no idea how long she had been sitting on that table replaying some of the worst moments of her life when a creaking over her left shoulder brought her back to the present. She was so lost in thought that it was a marvel she heard the portrait open—but hear it she did, and despite her lack of sleep she had her wand pointed at the intruder before she even caught sight of his tell-tale red hair.

When their eyes met she knew that he was indeed who he appeared to be, but one could never be too careful.

"Where were we the first time you performed a successful levitation charm?"

"The girl's toilets," he said and added: "where all great wizards slay their first mountain troll."

Satisfied, she lowered her wand and let Ron approach. He smiled—the grin was small, but there—and gracelessly joined her, arranging his legs to mirror her cross-legged stance. Had this been any other moment in time, she would have chuckled when she noticed that the table was not even tall enough to be a chair for someone as lanky as he was.

But it wasn't, and she didn't.

"You should be asleep." She said, staring at the sandwich remnants that cluttered the space between them.

"So should you."

"How did you find me?"

He pulled his deluminator out of his pocket and twirled it deftly between his fingers. She looked up at him, brows crinkled.

"But... you can't apparate on Hogwarts grounds."

"I know, and so does the deluminator. It guided me right through the halls."

"But I didn't…" _say your name_ died in her throat. _You thought it, _she reminded herself_._. _Since when is just thinking it enough?_ She didn't verbalize her question, because she wasn't sure she was ready to hear the answer.

She wasn't sure that she was ready to talk to Ron at all.

No, that was a lie. She was more than ready to talk to him; she just refused to be the one to start the conversation. She had exhausted her courage as far as Ron was concerned when she kissed him in the Room of Requirement, and even if she did find the nerve to bring that previous action up in conversation, she wouldn't have. She was sure that she was the last thing on his mind right now, considering all that had happened since.

"Putting the house elves to work, are you?" He asked, gesturing towards the remains of her sandwich.

"Are you going to tell on me?" She replied, a little surprised by her own brazenness.

"Nah. The board members of Spew would never believe it. And even if they did, they wouldn't do anything about it. They're never going to find someone else to volunteer to be president."

Hermione smiled. She didn't turn the corners of her lips up to acknowledge that she heard him—her face split into a genuine grin because of what Ron said. When she looked up at him in wonder, amazed that he had been able to garner such a reaction from her with one silly well placed comment, she burst into tears.

Within moments Ron had knocked the plate of half-eaten sandwich crusts that sat between them onto the floor and gathered her into his arms. He rocked her gently as she sobbed, running his shaky hands over her tangled hair.

"I'm sorry," she managed to mumble into his shoulder after a few minutes, "It wasn't anything you said, really, I just—"

"I know," he interrupted her. Had his voice been that raw before? "After everything... well, I didn't think this was about house elves." He paused for a moment. "Although..."

He stopped again, and she could feel his body tense.

"What?"

"You've been known to react quite strongly to things I say about house elves."

And there it was.

Well, if he could bring it up, she could at least find the courage to look him in the eye when they talked about it.

"I suppose that's true."

"I have to be honest, I preferred yesterday's outburst."

"Is that why you came to the kitchen then? Hoping that surrounding yourself with house elves would increase your chances of a repeat performance?"

"No!" He exclaimed, clearly worried that it was a serious question. "I mean, I came to see you, but it isn't like that. I couldn't sleep, and I wanted to see you, and I figured the deluminator brought be back to you once before, yeah? And I thought maybe we could talk…"

She was comfortable with the flirty banter, but she hadn't expected him to be so willing to talk about what had happened between them. She pulled away from him nervously.

"Ron, I don't know if I can do this." She didn't even meet his eyes when she said it. _Coward_, she admonished herself.

"Do what?" He asked, panicked. She quickly realized he had misinterpreted her apprehension. She hadn't meant she didn't want to head wherever it was they were heading, eventually; she simply wasn't sure she was ready to talk about it now.

"No, I don't mean—" She said, hurriedly. "I mean, I'm not talking about…" This was ridiculous. How could they still be stumbling over words after all they'd been through together? She took a deep breath and told him what he deserved to hear.

"I don't know if I can have this conversation right now. After everything... I just feel so guilty."

"What is there to feel guilty about?" His tone was still guarded.

"You have so much else to handle right now. This just seems to be the wrong part of yesterday to focus on." She hoped he would understand her explanation to mean she wanted to talk about it, eventually. It just wasn't the right time.

"This is the one thing that makes talking about yesterday bearable." His uncharacteristic candidness brought tears to her eyes. She didn't answer because she was afraid she would cry again. Her silence seemed to make him uneasy.

"It's all right. We don't have to do this if you feel you can't, or even if you just don't want to. I didn't come down here to make you talk about... anything. Like I said, I just couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop thinking, and one of those things I was thinking about was you, and I pulled the deluminator out of my pocket and clicked it, and it brought me here. And I think that means something. You might not, because you probably know how this thing actually functions—all I know is I have this little silver bit of magic in my pocket that's sole purpose seems to be leading me to you."

Her eyes were watering, and her heart was pounding so powerfully she was sure he could hear it.

"Ron, I…"

"You don't have to say anything. I just need you to know. When Fred..." He paused, visibly choking on his words. "It could have been me—it could have been _you_—and there's still so much I want to say to you, and do with you…" He trailed off and his ears turned pink. "I don't mean that how it sounds. Well, I don't _not_ mean that how it sounds…"

Hermione's entire body flushed at Ron's words. He stopped talking and put his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry. This is coming out all wrong."

"No! No, it's fine. I don't know how to do this either. Yesterday, I … I didn't mean to be so forward, or so public. You had just been so lovely, ever since you brought me to the cottage—"

"I thought I lost you. I have never, ever been so terrified in my entire life." He put his hands in his lap and clasped them into fists. They were shaking. "Or so angry. Merlin, you have no idea what I could have done to that vile woman if she had—"

"Stop," she found herself insisting, "Stop it. I'm here. I'm all right. I don't want you to think about things like that anymore." She placed both of her hands atop his, hoping she could still his rage. "Please." She added, and her voice cracked.

His fists relaxed, at her words or her touch she did not know. She stared as he carefully turned his hands and threaded his large, calloused fingers through her smaller, more delicate ones.

"You know, don't you?" He asked her, and she could feel his eyes on her. She summoned courage she did not know she still had to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were wide, wet with unshed tears, and absolutely captivating.

"Know what?" She asked. She was breathless and her heart was racing, as though she had just run a million laps around the castle.

He laughed, disbelievingly, but answered her question.

"That I'm mad about you." If was even possible, her heart began to beat even faster.

"I… I kind of hoped you were." Her smile was wide, but she could not stop the tears that began to stream down her cheeks. She hoped he could tell that she wasn't upset, just completely overwhelmed with emotion.

He must have understood, for he smiled back at her and reached out a shaky hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. When the pad of his thumb caught the offending droplet, he moved his hand to gently cup her face.

"May I… ?" He asked, hesitantly, as he moved his face closer to her own.

"Yes," She whispered, in that same breathless voice that she did not know she had prior to this evening.

As Ron's lips touched hers for the second time, she closed her eyes. Instead of the backs of her eyelids, she saw the wall they had long ago built between them crumble. As he deepened the kiss and slid the hand that was on her cheek into her tangled hair, she saw flashes of colored light not unlike fireworks. When she finally broke away from him to inhale sharply he left his forehead pressed against her own, and his ragged breath made her entire body feel as if it was on fire.

Several moments later, she struggled to open her eyes. Ron must have noticed her sudden fatigue.

"C'mon, you should get some sleep." He said, as he stood and offered a hand to help her off the table. They strolled toward the portrait hand in hand, and Hermione knew that despite all they had been through, when she returned to her four-poster in Gryffindor Tower her dreams would be pleasant ones.


End file.
